the tan of his face, carefully capped teeth gleamed whitely. “Sure thing. I’m Jack Allen, cruise director for the Queen Alexandra.” He stuck out a heavily corded hand, gave Liddell a firm shake. “I’ll have one of the crewmen bring your stuff out. That it over there?” He indicated the two suitcases and the attaché case on the dock bench.
“That’s it.”
The man in the white uniform motioned for one of the crewmen to bring the luggage aboard the tender, turned his attention back to Liddell. “You’re pretty lucky to be picking us up here. Had quite a blow couple of nights back. We should have clear sailing from now on.” He squinted up at the sky. “Couldn’t ask for anything better than a sky like that, could you?”
“Looks pretty good to me,” Liddell conceded.
The cruise director nodded. From close, it was obvious that he was older than he had appeared at first glance. “Been having a pretty good stretch of weather down here the past few weeks?”
Liddell grinned. “Couldn’t prove it by me. I only flew in a couple of days ago from New York. Got my business cleaned up faster than I expected, so I figured I’d combine business and pleasure and take the long way home.”
The man in white nodded, raised his hand in salute to the tender captain who split the silence with two toots of his siren.
“You coming back to the ship, Mr. Liddell, or you planning on doing a little sightseeing? If you feel like it, you can stay ashore and catch a later tender.”
“Think I’ll get myself settled, get things squared away. I’ve already seen the island.” He followed the man in the white uniform on board. Slowly, imperceptibly, the tender started to pull away from the dock. Sluggishly, it felt its way past the breakwater to the deeper water of the channel. The shoreline began to fall behind, the people and liquor shack on the dock became smaller and smaller. The drone of the engine was steady, soothing.
Liddell stood at the rail of the tender, watched as the distance to the shore grew. The combination of the balmy air, the warm sun and the soothing sound of the motor made it difficult for him to realize that he was here to catch a murderer. It was hard to think of murder in connection with these surroundings. But somewhere behind them in the ocean, Harry Landers’s body was irrefutable proof that it could happen. And if he got careless, Liddell might find himself playing gin with Landers in Davy Jones’s locker.
It was still better than having wet feet and chills in New York!
The tender captain expertly maneuvered the small craft to the gangway on B deck forward, made it fast. Inside the open hatchway another load of impatient cruisers was lined up waiting to rush down the gangplank for their trip to the island.
The man in the white uniform signaled for one of the crewmen to transfer Liddell’s luggage onto the Queen. Liddell climbed the gangplank, ducked his head as he stepped aboard. The long line waiting to board the tender looked at him curiously. Some of the women stared and whispered. The men just stared.
The cruise director brought over a plump, sweating little man in an officer’s uniform. “This is Andy Gartner from the purser’s office, Mr. Liddell. He’ll take care of you from here in.” He signaled to the steward at the head of the line to start loading the tender. “I’ll see you around.”
Liddell turned to the short, fat man. “My name’s Liddell. I’m joining the cruise here, booked through to New York.”
The assistant purser stuck out a damp, pudgy hand, gave Liddell’s a wet squeeze. “Glad to have you with us.” He reached for a clip board that hung from a hook on the wall, ran a sausage-shaped forefinger down a list of names, underscored with his nail one that had been written in longhand. “Liddell. You’ll have stateroom 321 on this deck. Will that be satisfactory?” he asked anxiously.
Liddell nodded. “Any accommodations will do. I’m not planning
“That’s it.”
The man in the white uniform motioned for one of the crewmen to bring the luggage aboard the tender, turned his attention back to Liddell. “You’re pretty lucky to be picking us up here. Had quite a blow couple of nights back. We should have clear sailing from now on.” He squinted up at the sky. “Couldn’t ask for anything better than a sky like that, could you?”
“Looks pretty good to me,” Liddell conceded.
The cruise director nodded. From close, it was obvious that he was older than he had appeared at first glance. “Been having a pretty good stretch of weather down here the past few weeks?”
Liddell grinned. “Couldn’t prove it by me. I only flew in a couple of days ago from New York. Got my business cleaned up faster than I expected, so I figured I’d combine business and pleasure and take the long way home.”
The man in white nodded, raised his hand in salute to the tender captain who split the silence with two toots of his siren.
“You coming back to the ship, Mr. Liddell, or you planning on doing a little sightseeing? If you feel like it, you can stay ashore and catch a later tender.”
“Think I’ll get myself settled, get things squared away. I’ve already seen the island.” He followed the man in the white uniform on board. Slowly, imperceptibly, the tender started to pull away from the dock. Sluggishly, it felt its way past the breakwater to the deeper water of the channel. The shoreline began to fall behind, the people and liquor shack on the dock became smaller and smaller. The drone of the engine was steady, soothing.
Liddell stood at the rail of the tender, watched as the distance to the shore grew. The combination of the balmy air, the warm sun and the soothing sound of the motor made it difficult for him to realize that he was here to catch a murderer. It was hard to think of murder in connection with these surroundings. But somewhere behind them in the ocean, Harry Landers’s body was irrefutable proof that it could happen. And if he got careless, Liddell might find himself playing gin with Landers in Davy Jones’s locker.
It was still better than having wet feet and chills in New York!
The tender captain expertly maneuvered the small craft to the gangway on B deck forward, made it fast. Inside the open hatchway another load of impatient cruisers was lined up waiting to rush down the gangplank for their trip to the island.
The man in the white uniform signaled for one of the crewmen to transfer Liddell’s luggage onto the Queen. Liddell climbed the gangplank, ducked his head as he stepped aboard. The long line waiting to board the tender looked at him curiously. Some of the women stared and whispered. The men just stared.
The cruise director brought over a plump, sweating little man in an officer’s uniform. “This is Andy Gartner from the purser’s office, Mr. Liddell. He’ll take care of you from here in.” He signaled to the steward at the head of the line to start loading the tender. “I’ll see you around.”
Liddell turned to the short, fat man. “My name’s Liddell. I’m joining the cruise here, booked through to New York.”
The assistant purser stuck out a damp, pudgy hand, gave Liddell’s a wet squeeze. “Glad to have you with us.” He reached for a clip board that hung from a hook on the wall, ran a sausage-shaped forefinger down a list of names, underscored with his nail one that had been written in longhand. “Liddell. You’ll have stateroom 321 on this deck. Will that be satisfactory?” he asked anxiously.
Liddell nodded. “Any accommodations will do. I’m not planning
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